


Cabaret Boys

by Rabenherz



Series: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes [7]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, F/M, Fingerfucking, Friendship, Gay Male Character, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Other, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Rimming, SO MUCH ALCOHOL, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Incompatibility, Unromantic, having consensual sexual interaction with a heterosexual female character, problematic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26093266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabenherz/pseuds/Rabenherz
Summary: They’ll sing songs about you when you're gone, Cass thinks, watching the glint of Six’s teeth as he laughs. Run the same fuckin’ script on the radio day in, day out. Like a goddamn Ralphie cartoon.Six – Arthur - is already more legend than man, subject of many a whisper in the camps of the NCR and the Legion. There is no way in hell he will pull off his little gambit and live, but the fact that he dared to play at all will make him both New Vegas' hero and her bogeyman. And if that ain't worth drinking to, Cass doesn't know that anything is.
Relationships: Courier/Rose of Sharon Cassidy, Male Courier/Original Male Character(s), Rose of Sharon Cassidy/Male Courier, Rose of Sharon Cassidy/Original Male Character
Series: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628497
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Cabaret Boys

It is never gonna last.

The realisation hits Cass like a mouth full of moonshine at the end of a toiling day. Sure, it burns but what a fuckin’ ride! 

They’re companionably sharing a bottle in Six’s handy little abode, huddled upstairs at the Wrangler. Strange how they keep coming back. The Strip with all its comfy vices is less than an hour’s walk away. Not that she’s complainin’. Cass will take the grime and whiskey sweat of a real bar over the eerie dead of the Lucky 38 any day of the damn week.

Six must feel the same, by the way he laughs so free, all loose-limbed mischief and lusty joy to be just alive. He ain’t been like that in weeks, not with the bullshit circlin’ round and round in his head. Fucking politics. 

Fucking House. 

Glass clinks against glass as she tops them up, spilling a tragic amount onto the already gummy desk. Shame, but it ain’t like Six can’t afford to buy another bottle, should the need arise. 

Six tsks at the mess, briefly interrupting his latest episode of conquest of the week. Some buff blond caravan guard he picked up last night. Nevertheless, he raises his glass in a toast.

“I’ll drink to that,” he says with a wink.

“Amen.”

If the drink still burns on the way down, they have come to the point of the night where Cass no longer notices. It’s the kind of drunk you don’t really allow yourself to be on the streets of Freeside, ‘course at that point you may as well just empty your pockets and leave your boots outside for the taking.

But not if you’re traveling with Courier Six, of course. The man’s got an army of grateful Kings licking his ass and every moron with a gun in Freeside knows better than to even look at him funny. All for the sake of some clockwork mutt. Weird. 

_They’ll sing songs about you when you're gone,_ Cass thinks, watching the glint of Six’s teeth as he laughs. _Run the same fuckin’ script on the radio day in, day out. Like a goddamn Ralphie cartoon._

Six – _Arthur_ \- is already more legend than man, subject of many a whisper in the camps of the NCR and the Legion. There is no way in hell he will pull off his little gambit and live, but the fact that he dared to play at all will make him both New Vegas' hero and her bogeyman. And if that ain't worth drinking to, Cass doesn't know that anything is.

“You’re not listening to me.”

Six’s breath is a whisper, teasing her neck hair with the warm slur of his breath. She swats at him as though he were a Bloatfly. 

“Not like I haven’t heard it before.” 

"Boring you, am I?" Six's eyes moon comically. "I'd say I'm insulted, but I don't believe you. The boy was just your type; thick as a log in all the ways that count. Pretty, too. Blond ‘n blue-eyed and tanned all over.”

Cass hums noncommittally, scratching at a small scab on her cheek.

“Don’t know where you got the idea from that I’m into farm boys.” The room sways a little as she gets to her feet. It only makes sense to grab the bottle to steady herself before she moves to the bed, sinking into the pillows with a sigh. 

“I got eyes and ears, is where.” Sniggering, Six knocks back the contents of his glass in one deep swallow, slamming the empty glass down in almost triumph. “But if you don’t want a story…”

“I didn’t say that, did I?” 

“Atta girl,” he purrs. “Now do us a favor and move your skinny ass.”

There is no time to respond, much less comply, before his weight dips the mattress and his elbow catches her tits. 

“Argh, fuck you-”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“If you just move a bit-”

“Like this?” Six shifts his weight, deliberately slow, his head comes to rest on Cass’ chest with the mass of red hair now long enough that it tickles her collarbones. They have the same hair and eyes. Red sand and desert skies. Sometimes it almost makes her wonder if old John Cassidy ever wandered back to the whorehouses of New Reno. Except they are the same age too, Six and her, and as far as Cass knows her mom had the old man on a pretty tight leash for those early years. 

It is almost a pity. Might have been nice to have had a brother to tease, to push, to teach how to drink. 

“Go on then,” she mutters, scratching his scalp with ragged nails. 

“Mhm,” Six hums with pleasure, closing his eyes. “Now where was I?”

“With some pretty piece of caravaner tail you picked up near McCarran.”

“Ah yes, obviously.” His lips curve, cheeky. “Funny thing being that he tried to pick me up first.”

“Hah!” Cass exclaims, gently tugging at the strands of hair between her fingers. “Good for you.”

Six never struggles to talk strangers into warming his bed, but the man looks like a gremlin, all short and freckled and rough. It’s luck for him not to have to approach someone first.

“I know, right?” Six agrees. “And you should have heard the mouth the boy had on him.”

“Put it to good use, did you?”

“Don’t skip ahead. You’ll miss the good bits.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Right. So there’s this angel-faced twentysomething motherfucker, shoulders as wide as a Behemoth. Minor parabola for emphasis, you understand." He opens an eye, purely to wink at her.

"Yeah," Cass mutters. “I gotcha."

Six nods his approval. "Excellent. So this blue-eyed sonofabitch is dragging me back to his tent, which, by the way he is meant to be sharing with three other guys, all the while talkin' a real good game about how sweet of a time he's gonna show me. He’s even got his hand shoved down the back of my jeans, trying to get a bit of a head start. ‘Couldn’t have that, of course, but I also didn’t much want an argument to ruin the mood. So what do I do? I push him down on his bunk and get his dick in my mouth before I start making a convincing case about my point of view.”

“Same old, same old.” Cass teases, letting her fingers wander down the rough stubbled sides of Six’s face, denting her thumb in the curve of his lip and earning herself a soft bite for her troubles. 

“Only so many tabs and holes, I’m afraid,” Six explains lightly, mockingly peppering Cass’s fingertips with kisses. “But you should have seen him: blond all over, and a decent size as well. He’s got his hand in my hair, all gentle, so I surprise him by taking him down all the way to the root. Got him swearing then, thinking he’s choking me - what a sweetheart - but stupid as he is, he catches up soon enough when I just keep going to town like the delightful creature I am.” As though to illustrate his point, he captures two of Cass’ fingers between his lips, obscenely pushing his tongue between them.

“You’re disgusting,” Cass praises, trying to push in deeper to catch him off guard. His mouth is disarmingly warm, and though the wetness is off putting, the heat spreads pleasantly through her body, meeting the whiskey in her gut.

She pulls free, leaving a trail of spit on his chin. 

“Down boy,” she says, and suddenly finds herself confronted with the image of Six with swollen lips, his face covered in cum. Fucking vile. She never liked that sort of thing, and guys who do that to girls are, well, they’re…

But Six ain’t no girl, that’s for sure. 

He is watching her now from beneath lowered lashes, absently licking his lips. Fucker. 

“Anyway, so I’m absolutely blowing his mind, right?” Six continues. “Best feeling in the world, to have a mountain of beef and muscle come apart like that beneath your tongue. At this point his thighs are shaking, so there’s me, ever the gentleman running my hands along ‘em to soothe him. Rock fucking solid, I tell you. Not an inch of fat on this kid, and his legs are covered in this fine dusting of hair like golden threads.”

Fucking hell. She can picture the guy clear as day. The theatre in her mind subtly adds a few touches that make the show even more appealing, like a tan that reaches all over. Nice, workworn hands…

“Since I got my hands on his thighs, I think to myself: Arthur, what’s the harm? So I push ‘em up and slightly apart. He lets me: at that point I’m pretty sure he’d let me do anything to him." Six's voice drops, rich like amber whiskey, crackling like a log fire. He's showing off his best feature, and if Cass were sober she’d be annoyed at the fact that he’s playing her like a fiddle, all for the sake of his own sick amusement. Hell, she’s annoyed now, but not enough to put a stop to it. 

Six persists, pointedly oblivious to the itch in her fingers and between her thighs.

"I’m eager to give my jaw a rest by then, so I pull off and get a hand ‘round his dick.” He demonstratively wraps his fingers around Cass’ wrist with a wriggle of his eyebrows. He’s probably lying, but at this point, who gives a shit? “To keep him interested, see? Distracted, too, cause even though I’ve got him squirming and sweating, I can tell my naive little beauty still thinks he’s gonna be ridin’ my ass by the end of the night. So I give him a second to catch his breath, and I even smile up at him all syrupy sweet, kissing his cock all appreciative-like, before I go downtown. Now-”

The grin he flashes her is near feral, startling in its intensity.

“I’ve been with many, many guys in my time, and folks are split about fifty-fifty on whether they like to have their balls played with. I don’t usually bother to find out on a first date - that’s romantic long-term commitment stuff, and I don’t as a rule go in for that. But in all my years, I’ve not found a better way to get a guy going than to eat him out. Bit risky, of course, if you don’t know where he’s been, but I’ve gotten fairly good at telling whether it’s a gamble worth taking, and this boy in particular was so pretty and clean, I really couldn’t help myself.”

Six momentarily stop and turns on his side towards Cass, most likely because her persistent squirming has finally caught his attention. As for Cass, well, her head swims with a curious cocktail of arousal and disgust. This is a part of the story where she really wouldn’t like to have traded places with Six, but her mind’s eye helpfully shifts until she’s got the handsome caravaner sucking on her clit. Unprompted, she’s given him a close-cropped beard and wide shoulders to rest her legs on.

In the here and now, Six offers her a frankly despicable smirk.

“You alright there, Rosegirl? I’ve got you blushing at last.” He smells pleasant; all booze and sweat and cigarette smoke. All the things she loves, just in the wrong body.

“The hell you have,” she groans, grinding her teeth into the hard brunt of her knuckle. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Six hums, thoughtful, watches her close and steady. Then, lazily, he starts to pluck open the buttons on her jeans, one by one, 

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

The smirk has softened. He gives a one shouldered shrug, as if to ask _isn’t it obvious._

Cass just stares at him. She tries, for a long moment, to figure out his angle.

Fuck it.

If her queer manwhore of a best friend really wants to stick a hand down her pants, who is she to argue? 

“Fine,” she says, throwing up her hands for effect. “Though I’m not convinced you know where to put it.”

Six chuckles.

“I hear there’s options.” 

The hand not currently propping him up comes to rest low on her stomach. The slight pressure by itself is pleasant, and she tremors a little as his fingers dip lower to teasingly stroke through her pubic hair. 

“One option only. You get anywhere near my ass and I’ll tear you a new one.”

“Noted.” Six’s eyes flash, filthy. “Hey, Cass. Do you ever think about me fucking you?”

If she hadn’t laughed, she would have decked him. 

“Fuck off,” she says, rolling her hips to meet his questing fingers. He is not skilled at this. Alien anatomy, she supposes, but a bit of care and confidence and a gynecologist's diagram will go a long way. 

“Only asking." Six’s teeth pearl light in the murk of the bedroom. Chatter bustles like a ghost radio from the bar downstairs. She ain’t jealous. “But I figured you’d be more into my pretty caravaner friend. Want me to continue the story with you as the hero?”

“Nah,” She shimmers out of her jeans. Arthur has the good grace to look surprised. Kicking off her pants, she opens her legs. A challenge for his story. See how he likes it, for once. “Continue. Tell me how you fucked him stupid.”

“Alright.” Six, approving, absently circles her clit. “Buckle up, princess.”

He seems strangely fascinated by how slick she is, dipping low to feel her out. It is less intense than she’d prefer, but the friction is enough to roll out her throat in a moan. 

“So I’ve got him under me, to do with as I please, right?” Six continues in a whisper. His eyes are on her face, not her body, and no matter what girls say they wish for: it is a little unnerving to be with a guy who only likes you for the thoughts in your head and the stupid shit you rattle off about the world. (Then again, Six once mentioned he grew up in some kind of brothel up in New Reno. He must have seen plenty of pussy in his day, enough to leave any straight man nutless). “And I’m teasing him, merciless. Running my tongue over his hole gently, soft enough that it might be experimental. I do it again and again, and it is such a rush to listen to the little sighs and gasps he makes.”

Cass is chuffed to say she’s not givin’ Six the vocal treatment (not with him prodding her vagina like a curious kid.)

Undeterred, Six goes on.

“By then I’m sure even he must realise that he’s the one in for the ride of a lifetime, and he helps me, holding open his legs and askin’ me for more, all sweet and nice and desperate. Of course, I’m a gentleman, right? Right. So after playing with him for just a little longer I push my tongue inside. First just a little, but soon I’m going for it properly, fucking him open as best I can.”

“Fuck, Arthur…!” Cass’ head is reeling a little between the hand working between her legs and the lurid image of the caravan guard fucking her with his tongue, while Six eats his ass like he’s a gourmet and this asshole is a stellar three course meal at the Ultra Luxe. Maybe not quite like a kid, then. The last part is kind of disgusting, but somehow disgusting seems to really be working for her right now.

“Don’t you knock it ‘till you try it, pretty lady,” he says, licking his lips. Ugh. “It’s a wild thing to be at either end of, if you ask me, and tongue is the only kind of fucking even I can go for sometimes.” 

Cass can’t imagine Six ever allowing himself to be that weak. Even drunk off his ass the man can talk circles around most people, and it’s a crying shame he’s gonna get himself killed soon, because Six on top of his game is a motherfucking spectacle. 

“Would love to see that,” she says breathlessly, once again surprising herself a little. She balls her fist in his hair close enough to his scalp that it must tug, hurt.

The corners of Six’s eyes crease, indulgent.

“Sure you would, beautiful. Sure you would.” 

The kiss he presses to her temple is frustratingly chaste, but thankfully he does not stop talking for too long cos the fingers are nice and all but there ain’t a lot of skill in that. That voice, that story, that is something else entirely.

"Now, sometimes when the mood strikes me I can spend ages eatin' a guy out, but this boy is so sweet and responsive that I'm getting pretty riled up myself. I always carry some of the good stuff with me. Just in case I make a new friend along the road, y' know? - but since I'm already getting his hole all nice and slick, I just push a couple of fingers into him alongside my tongue."

Six’s fingers part her below her clit. Cass swears and clumsily gets a hand between her own legs, to show him how it’s done in Het town, even with his delighted shit eating smirk lighting up his face like the roller ball of the Lucky 38. Fuck, she is drunk out of her mind.

"That's it," he says, curling his fingers upwards. Right on the money spot. "That's it." 

The orgasm spoils hot in Cass’s gut. She pulls Six’s hair, all the split ends of strawberry gold snapping as she rolls herself into it. The ceiling blurs as she floats away, caravan guard and Six and testy hand jobs be damned.

She’s brought back to earth by Six gently easing her fist out of his hair. He gives her this weird, soft smirk and nuzzles her neck like a dog. For a mad, stupid moment she kind of wants to kiss him, but even now she can see he’s soft in the crotch. Bastard.

Then she feels the wet, and there comes the real tragedy.

“Aw, shit!” She swears, rolling on her side. If she can pluck the amber dewdrops with her tongue, she would. “For fuck’s sake.”

“The whiskey.” He finishes what is left in one large swallow, taking down the one taste they have in common. He wipes his mouth, apologetic, and throws the bottle out at the end of the bed. Another carcass in the glass graveyard. He gently tugs the hem of her flannel shirt. “Off or on, sweetheart?”

"Off," she mutters, lifting her arms to aid in the wrestling out of her shirt and bra. She sinks down, tired with drink and orgasm, and he lies beside her like a kid, his hair tickling under her nose.

“Hey,” He yawns for emphasis. Everything a big stage, yadda yadda. "I didn't even get to tell you how I screwed him stupid."

"Crazy queer motherfucker," Cass mumbles under her arm. Beneath her forearm, her eyes are dry and hard, like diamonds. "Just don't die before you get the chance."

"Ain't planning on it, princess."

She has a weird feeling, passing. A kind of malcontented stir, like she wants to hate him. She doesn’t know quite what for. For being able to do what he does and not blink an eye. To twiddle her off and drink her whiskey with his eyes melting like the bottom of a bottle, and to smirk and cock his head and know she’ll follow.

It’s weird. Like maybe how Arcade feels. But one look at him and its gone. Only leaves a bitter taint, like the aftertaste of cheap whiskey.

“Yeah.” She affirms. “You better not.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the ever lovely BannedBloodOranges for beating this into readable shape.


End file.
